Love and Movies

We didn't end up going to Orlando last night because we're lame and old and tired (not really, but kind of) so instead we had a scrumptious homemade dinner (turkey bacon wrapped shrimp with a light goat cheese, walnut and herb salad) and watched movies.

John makes great floor-forts: layers of bedding and pillows on the living room wherein we curl up for prime TV viewing real estate. Last night was no exception and usually minutes, no seconds, after the construction phase of these forts gets completed, Foxy is present.

She started respectfully enough, on the floor in front of us, staring and purring. Halfway through Beer Wars she got more bold, crawling up on to one of the pillows.

It was heartwarmingly cute, really. "I'm here. Pet me when you can. Love me."

But as most things with her, the cute phase is short-lived. She's impatient, not that I have any idea what that's like. Regardless, we patted her here and there, the usual. But it wasn't enough. It's never enough. She is, no argument, a bottomless pit of love.

And when it comes to John, Foxy is a woman obsessed with filling that pit. I've cared for her, nursed her back from the wild, picked up after her, taken her to the vet, moved her here and there, and loved the bejesus out of her furry little head for going on 8 years now. She meets John and it's "Vanessa who?" I can't blame her, he has the same effect on me...but still...cat, human, cat, human.

Anyway, as we make our way into The Bourne Ultimatum (yes, I know I'm behind) she makes her way into John's face. As usual, he gives in and pets her into a frenzy of muffled reverberation.
                                      

And then, because it's true that he really is the sweetest guy alive, he lays back and lets her do what she's been aiming for since that first innocent moment on the carpet. His chest is her Mt. Everest and last night, she didn't even have to use her claws to get up there!



They laid like that for I don't know how long. I actually fell asleep somewhere around half-way through the movie (which if you've seen it, you know I had to be really tired to be able to accomplish). But before I conked out, I did manage to snap this picture of them...holding (paw) hands! Sigh. Foxy 1, Vanessa 0.

--V

Carnage on the Patio

Like usual, Foxy follows me out to the patio. I sit down. She jumps on the table to explore. Everything's normal.

And then she attacks.

Like a crazed jungle cat, she viciously chomps into the plant on the table, tearing in half at least five of its leaves like they're the most delicious mouse or goldfish she's ever encountered ... Horrified, I take a picture ... She then seemingly realizes what she's doing and suddenly stops, conscious of her (hopefully temporary) insanity.

Or not. After a short while, she cleans herself proudly, jumps on my lap and meows demandingly.

I'm so scared.

J

Bon Voyage Human!

We're leaving for Orlando today to spend the night in a swanky Hollywood-style hotel, eat famous burgers and watch a drag show. While there is nary a bag packed, she knows. She spent last night mewing and climbing and begging to be loved, like a small child before their first day of school. She's stayed alone many nights in the years her and I have been companions. More than once when I've left her for a weekend to go camping or to see a show, I've returned to find she'd peed in my laundry, shed purposefully on my pillow, etc. So, based on her track record I'm always a little leery as to what we'll come home to.

Last time we left for a weekend, John's mom came over to spend some time with her during one afternoon, just because. I think it helped - although we did come home to so much hair on the bedspread that even washing it didn't quite rectify - it was better than what could have happened.

I'm off to fill her dishes and give her some love, in hopes that she will refrain from her absent-human behavior and spare us having to see sasquatch-level furballs on the bed when we return.

-- V

Good Morning, Vomit.

I cleaned everything yesterday - partly to work out tension and partly because I wanted to surprise John. I mean everything - got the mop out, did three loads of laundry, meditated in scrubbing, etc. My piece de resistance, clean sheets, of course. Imagine my chagrin this afternoon when after excitedly gushing about my exam, he told me that he woke up to Foxy throwing up. At 8:30am. In the bed. On my pillow and side, to be exact.

Cats. We laughed. John re-washed the sheets. I bought her some "hairball control" food a few weeks ago because she's a total diva and cleans herself about 70% of the day (and if you've met her you know that's a lot of hair). However, she's been leaving us little piles of love lately and I'm starting to wonder if maybe the food controls hairballs by inducing vomit instead...

I'm going to keep my eye on it but in the midst of our collective musing about the twist this cat brings to our lives, we wondered if maybe it would be interesting to keep track of it. Everyday she does something weird, adorable or just downright hilarious. Yeah, I know, her and every other cat in the world. But this one is different. I swear. This is our attempt to bring a little joy (or for those cat owners, some relief that you're not the only one) to the world.

And yes, I am fully aware that choosing to write about a cat puts me into a place to receive fun-poking from many of you. I respectfully ask that you keep your "cat lady" comments at a minimum - John's writing here too! For the record, I wanted a dog instead...but sometimes in life, people and animals choose you...and the rest is history or a blog, or vomit on a pillow.

-- V